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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25447918">Intuition</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/amateur_professional/pseuds/amateur_professional'>amateur_professional</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Reconnecting [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Brainwashing, Cults, Estrangement, Gen, Minor Character Death, or maybe major depending on how you look at it, she's too young to understand what's happening hnnghghndhgdn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 07:40:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,006</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25447918</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/amateur_professional/pseuds/amateur_professional</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Roose lives in a strange and small world. Her world was the inside of a small group of homes. She wasn't permitted to leave them. Everybody said that the other people outside were dangerous, that they would dirty your soul or take the energy for themselves.</p><p>That was going to change.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Leo Voigt &amp; Roose Voigt, Past Leo Voigt &amp; Emilia Voigt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Reconnecting [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1843195</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Intuition</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written impulsively one March evening after dinner because I was obsessed with how one could "smell like a mom". Little did I know what it was going to jumpstart.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Roose lived in a strange and small world. </p><p>Her world was the inside of a small group of homes. She wasn't permitted to leave them. Everybody said that the other people outside were dangerous, that they would dirty your soul or take the energy for themselves. Only adults were permitted to interact with them, and as a result the children always stayed inside. </p><p>She knew that the group of houses was managed by two adults who never showed their faces, who she was supposed to refer to as Mother and Father—in conversation and if she ever had the honour of addressing one directly. For all the other adults, ‘auntie’ and ‘uncle’ would usually suffice, unless they were seniors. Then they had a slew of nicknames and titles that she could never remember. She didn’t know who her birth parents were—none of the children did. They were all separated from the parents shortly after being born.</p><p>She was one of the youngest of the children there. Roose often wandered through the halls, looking at the old pictures and painted words on the walls, sometimes with a friend. She and other children would pretend to be explorers of the mysterious world outside, knowing only what they saw through the windows. They would sneak in the dark of night, sniffing out any scraps of food they could snatch before the adults woke up. She had a good nose for finding things. The older kids would sometimes pick her up and point her like a radar, jokingly telling her to find their lost shoes, flashlights, or books. They would hear the adults talk about the end of the world as a regular part of conversation and listen through the keyholes. </p><p>Their souls needed to be ‘pure’ once the time came, she gathered that much. There was some unmentioned consequence that would await you if you didn’t.</p><p>Humans could survive three minutes without air. Three days without water. Three weeks without food. Thus, when she turned three, she was brought to a basement that she had never seen before. There was a bed, a chair, and two adults. She recognized one as the Father almost immediately, but the woman was just that: a woman. Roose thought she looked like her, with the same ebony hair, pale skin, and deep blue eyes. She also seemed a little thin. </p><p>“My dear,” the Father had said, “We must prepare for the end of the world as we know it. You have to learn…” And though she watched him with childish awe, she didn’t quite understand what he meant. He strolled around her, long robes swishing, brushing against her. With a wave of his hand, the woman bowed and began removing her clothes. Once she was finished, she went to the bed and laid down, completely still. Father followed suit, taking off everything but the strange, hooded mask he wore. “Sit.”</p><p>She sat in the chair, placed just a few feet away from the corner of the bed so she viewed it diagonally. Father turned to her just as he climbed onto the bed.</p><p>“For humankind to survive, every person must be prepared. Face your creation. Learn your role in the collective. Then you will know what to do when the end comes.” Roose watched him lower himself onto the woman. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close. Then they engaged in intercourse.</p><p>It was hard to see past the Father, but whenever she caught a glimpse of the woman’s face… it wasn’t love on her features. It was fear.</p><p>The act took about ten minutes. The Father left immediately after for his ‘duties’, and she was left in the room with the woman. She beckoned Roose over to her, and the moment Roose was at the side of the bed she pulled the girl onto her lap. She just stared at her, taking in all the details of the child that had no idea who she was. Roose didn’t understand why the woman had tears in her eyes, nor why she was snugly nestled in her chest a moment later. </p><p>Roose thought the woman smelled nice, free of the strange, burnt, sickly sweet scent that the house had. She couldn’t place what it was.</p><p>She eventually had to go back to her quarters with the other children, however, and was hastily sent on her way once footsteps began approaching the basement once more. </p><p>At night, she’d usually go to her favourite patch of carpet. She’d bring a pillow or two, and so would a few other children. They would read books, sometimes out loud, then silently once enough had fallen asleep. That’s how they slept—five or six bodies in a pile—because there weren’t enough beds in the house to fit everybody. Then once she woke up, the ‘duties’ would begin. </p><p>Most of the adults would leave during the day to pick up supplies or work outside in the gardens. The remainder stayed behind to watch the children and, er, guard the exits. Nobody could exit—and no stranger to the community could enter. The children usually frolicked amongst the books, played games, or attempted to tap out a few notes on the old piano that hadn’t seen a repairman in decades. After each meal, there would be an hour or two of study where the adults would teach math, history, and English. Regardless of the subject for the day, they would always leave time at the end. They would preach their values and make sure every child knew how to stay in line. </p><p>This was how it was for her entire life. It was all she knew.</p><p>Until it wasn’t.</p><p>It was just a regular winter night. She was once again squeezed in between a few other children, listening to one read a Little Critters book and dozing off… when there was a sudden commotion outside. A man barged into the room, a bloody axe hanging limply from his mangled arm. </p><p>“You—kids.” He managed, cursing as the limp arm brushed against the door. “Run out through the back—agh—the door just past the kitchen and find your Mother, ‘kay? We’ve found a nice… new winter home for you guys.” Then he walked away down the hall, grunting in pain, with a noticeable limp. There were loud sounds from outside, distant at first but then approaching with the cover of shouts. “Gunshots!”, the boy reading the book gasped, half in excitement and half with terror. The children knew better than to refuse, but… some were hesitant about running outside. It was cold. It was alien. </p><p>But the willing ones pushed the hesitant along, and they grabbed whatever they could: toys, books, a sweater, shoes, a favourite blanket. Roose wondered why they were moving homes at this hour, and how they were to take everything with them with such short notice.  </p><p>She followed the group to the kitchen and the gusts of winter wind hit her from the open back door, chilling her to the bone. It was pitch black outside. A robed figure stood tall in the centre of dozens of children—Mother. She and a few other adults herded the children into the backs of vans and trucks, things she had only seen in pictures. The group ran out into the snow to join them, shocked by the cold, wet ground under bare feet, but any thoughts of going back inside were dashed when more people came up behind them. The first few waves were community members, some injured enough to be carried. </p><p>“The damn cops!” One said roughly, supported by another. “They’re coming this way right now—” And soon, the adults were pushing and shoving, trying to make it to the vehicles before anyone else could. She was knocked aside again and again until she was on the outside of the crowd, where she had a clear view of the back door. She watched the same man from before, sans axe, futilely wrestle with one of the raiders before being knocked out by the stock of a gun.</p><p>The people who came out of the door… were strangers. Strangers far better equipped than the community’s guards, who rushed out of the door just as the vehicles began to leave. She, and the fraction that was left behind, was quickly surrounded and ordered to stay still. Most adults, and even some of the children, refused. Guns were pulled. A few shots… needed to be fired. Roose was pushed to the ground, getting a mouthful of snow and dirt, hearing a few bodies drop next to her. Some were not like her, trying to avoid bullets. They wouldn't be getting back up.</p><p>She scrambled to her feet as nearly fifty of the people she had grown up with were rounded up and escorted back to the front, where police transport was waiting for them. The younger children were dealt with separately. They were distressed. Confused and crying, some splattered with more than just muddy snow. Was this... the end of the world, as she knew it?</p><p>What happened next was a blur. The police were certainly not happy about needing to interrogate this many people, especially since the majority of them were children. Roose was sat down in front of a tired-looking agent(? investigator?), who she recognized as being the one in the struggle with the axeman. They introduced themselves as Detective Voigt but insisted for her to call them Leo. Leo asked her questions about her life there, whether or not she was hurt by the adults, and who the robed people were. They had let slip that the Father was in police custody, but he was refusing to say anything but warnings of the end. She didn’t know what to think about that.</p><p>Once the questioning was finished, then came the time to decide where the children were to go. Some still had family outside of the community that they could live with, but for the others, the only option seemed to be foster homes.<br/>
An orphanage wouldn’t do… they weren’t orphans. Their parents were still out there somewhere, in a convoy of vehicles travelling through heavy snowfall to who-knows-where. They weren’t going to be found soon. </p><p>Roose, however… was certainly a unique case. Because Leo had listened, recording her entire account of everything she remembered (however simplified). They’d written everything, from the words on the wall to the books to the experience Roose went through in the basement. It was the basement event that carried the most significance—and she didn’t, wouldn’t know until she was older.</p><p>Roose didn’t know that among the many missing person folders involved in this was the woman in the basement, nor that she was left behind at the scene. She didn’t know that the woman had suffered mortal wounds moments before the raid, from one of the guards trying to stop her from escaping. She didn’t know…</p><p>She didn’t know that the woman she had described had perfectly matched the profile of none other than Emilia Voigt, who had died in Leo's arms mere minutes after recognizing them. All she knew… was that she was to stay with the investigator indefinitely until a better home was found... and though that was highly unlikely, this was too messy of a business to worry about making anything official yet.</p><p>Not that she was concerned. Because despite knowing nothing about the case or her late mother’s role in it, her intuition told her there was nothing to worry about. Leo was familiar. Outside the station, she’d tug on their pant leg. They would crouch down and be met promptly with her small, shivering body burying her face into their collar. They would remember how they carried Emilia years and years ago, when they were small and she was even smaller, trudging their way through the snow—awaiting a scolding from their mutti once they got home.</p><p>“You smell like mommy.” Roose said. (They did.)</p><p>There was nothing to worry about.</p>
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